Perfection of the Moment
by sh3rw1n
Summary: It was no real surprise to Harvey when Mike had shown up at his door drunk off his ass. On the contrary, Mike was quite astonished when a drunk Harvey stumbles in.  Rated T for a kiss and some language.


It was already 10 passed fuck-it-o'-clock, and Mike _still_ hadn't gone home. Every cubicle at Pearson Hardman was dark, pray for his, and the building was empty and painfully quiet. His suit was deranged by this point in what had become a 15-hour work day: skinny tie loosened to the point of laziness, blazer jacket thrust rudely over the back of his office chair, sleeves of his once crisp white shirt rolled up to the elbows. He had even slipped his feet out of his shoes a few hours ago as the last employees clocked out wearily. Harvey had left at 9:30, about three hours ago, giving Mike a quixotic look as he stopped at the young associate's cubicle. He had draped an arm nonchalantly over the side of the tiny grey box, his dark eyes darting all around Mike's desk, observing the highlighter cap currently clenched in the kid's mouth.

"I take it you'll be dashing out of here as soon as I leave, right?" he asked his associate, that classic Harvey grin playing at his features. Mike glanced up from the papers he was going over with the bright yellow pen, removing the highlighter cap from his mouth with a complete lack of grace, a thin trail of drool hanging from the side of his mouth. He swore he saw the corners of Harvey's mouth curl up ever so slightly into something that could be described more as a smile than a smirk before the younger associate managed to wipe the spit with the back of his hand.

"Attractive." The senior partner quipped.

Mike grimaced up at his boss playfully and shot back "Almost as attractive as me in drag."

At that, Harvey arched an eyebrow, his eyes full of questioning humor, as if to say 'oh really?' The older man had a few responses to that, but he didn't want to make the kid uncomfortable and or get cited for some type of sexual harassment in the workplace, so he just bit his tongue. There was a slight interstice of awkward silence before Harvey's mobile went off in his pocket. Reacting quickly to the low buzz, the older man poked a button on the device and put it up to his ear.

"Harvey Specter."

Within the first twenty seconds of the conversation, Harvey's mood went from cheerily snarky to seething with rage and anger. Mike couldn't make out who it was on the other line, but the voice sounded male, so he figured it wasn't like a incensed ex-wife or something. A client? Maybe it was Macker.

"Well, Mr. Macker, we'd have to discuss the terms of what you're sugges-" Harvey was cut off, an expression of disgust clawing at his face. Mike was right; it _was_ Macker.

They had been working on closing a deal with the wealthy entrepreneur for a while now, hoping to land the multi-million dollar deal. Stanley Macker, the man in question, was quite difficult to work with, and had stormed out of their meeting when Harvey refused to lower Macker's payment to Pearson Hardman. Since then, Mike and his boss had been working on reeling the big fish back in, knowing that loosing that wealthy of a client would have Jessica coming at them wielding one of her spiked heels.

Neither Mike nor Harvey wanted that. At all.

Both the men thought they had patched up the deal with Macker, but perhaps the swaggering hot-shot decided to try something else. Something that Harvey clearly _didn't like._ Without notice, Harvey stabbed at a button on his phone with violent irritation, shoving the thing deep into his thousand dollar trouser pockets. Turning on his heel, without even another word to Mike, the older man stormed down the hall. Well, he didn't storm (Harvey Specter _never_ stormed), but his gait was long and overly brisk, carrying him towards the elevator with motivated resentment. Mike sort of just gazed after his boss with a puzzled expression, as if he'd just been punched in the face or something. It was one of the first honest to god times he'd seen Harvey get downright _pissed._ The senior partner hadn't even been _that_ angry when Mike had come into his office high as a kite.

What the hell was going on?

Mike, who was generally unsure of how to act in a normal setting, was put even further out of his comfort zone. _Should he run after Harvey? No, why would he do that. That's just stupid. But… what if Harvey did something completely bonkers? No, this was Harvey Specter, best closer in the city; he wouldn't do something ridiculously unintelligent, right? Yeah… yeah, it would be fine._ Mike assured himself even further, imagining am irate Harvey downing a few amber shots in the comfort of his own posh apartment, passing out angrily on the leather couch. Mike clung on to this image, hoping to god it's what Harvey actually intended to do. Without any way of (well, any way Mike was willing to employ; he wasn't gonna stalk his boss or anything) actually being sure of Harvey's intentions, Mike decided to do the one thing he _did_ know how to do.

Work.

Mike worked diligently, tackling cases that Harvey wouldn't even have to look at until next week, knowing that getting the work done early would relieve some stress form his boss. It just felt like the right thing to do, you know? Mike was skimming through another pro bono case now, eyelids finally getting heavy, neck cramping in places he didn't even know were possible. He stretched his arms towards the ceiling, tossing the highlighter in his hand down onto his desk with a clatter, pen cap once again in his mouth. Rolling his chair back, he placed his sock covered feet up on his desk, placing his arms behind his head. He closed his eyes, reveling in the feeling of getting his legs extended to full length. Letting out a contented sigh, he decided that he had done more than enough by now, and planned to finish up this quick pro bono before calling it a day (well, technically morning, seeing as it was now 2:36am). Slowly removing his feet from the top of the table, he scooted the chair back to the desk and retrieved the highlighter, starting again on the stack of paper. A few marks of highlighter later, he heard it. It was a faint shuffle of footsteps down the hall, soon growing louder into unmetered thumps on the carpeted floor. Mike froze instantly, peering futilely into the dark hall, trying to scrunch up his eyes but still unable to see nothing in the blackness. Mike's genius brain raced ridiculously, a lack of sleep causing his thoughts to be a little less than realistic. _Oh god oh god oh god. This is the beginning of a fucking zombie apocalypse, isn't it? That down the hall is a zombie. And it's going to eat my brains out and turn me into one of them. Or it's a serial killer. Undead or mentally disturbed man with a gun, I'm still dead._ The young, frantic associate spit the pen cap out of his mouth and grabbed the nearest item he could use as a weapon: a black Swingline. The shuffling was getting closer and closer, and Mike was sure that he would soon be able to see his attacker in the dim illumination of his desk lamp any second now. Standing up shakily, and holding the stapler like a baseball bat, he decided that he'd face the assailant like a man, try to at least get a swing at him or something before getting shot or eaten.

Mike let out an almost girlish shriek when he nearly took an office tool to the side of his boss' head.

"JESUS CHIRST HARVEY!" Mike gushed, dropping the stapler with a loud crack, casing Harvey to flinch in a delayed fashion. Mike put a hand to his racing chest, breaths coming and going in short puffs.

"Whatteryou doing here?" slurred Harvey, basically draping himself over Mike's cubicle for stability. At this Mike looked up inquisitively. Studying the older man's face, he noted the flushed cheeks, the slightly dilated pupils, the eyelids lidded with drunken stupor.

"Oh my god, Harvey! You're _totally_ wasted aren't you?" Mike asked, almost smirking. Harvey Specter, who woulda thought? Sure Mike had arrived at his boss' door completely inebriated before, but Mike also didn't have that sterling and strict reputation that Harvey Specter brandished brazenly on a daily basis. His associate was just having a hard time actually realizing that his hard-ass boss was stumbling into the firm at 3am, drunk out of his mind. Oh man, Mike was _not_ going to let Harvey live this one down for a while.

"Wassit look like, kid? Tell me, AM I drunk?" Harvey leered, too smashed to sound intelligent with his sarcasm.

"Harvey, you're drunk." Mike stated with a grin, before asking "Wait, why would you come _here_ if you're…?" his question trailed off awkwardly before he was able to word it in a more eloquent way.

"Ya'know th'bar? The one down the road? Uhm… Cold Light? Light? Cold? Ice?" Harvey asked, flailing his hand in an indeterminable direction out the window, his thought process deviating incomprehensibly. Even so, Mike knew of Light Ice, one of those fashionable new-age bars where all the hip individuals went to drink overpriced cocktails and shots. It was the kind of place a loaded, narcissistic, single and handsome law firm senior partner would go to get wasted.

"Light Ice." Mike offered.

"Yeah! Tha'one. Well. They were closin' or sommthin. I dunno, but they told me I had t'go. And, well, I wasn't nearly drunk enuff to forget that asshole Macker, sooooo I went here! Got a nice ol' bottle a scotch in my desk cabinet." He giggled, placing an uncoordinated index finger to his lips "But don'tell Jessica 'bout it. She wouldn't approve." Harvey sent himself into another fit of giggles.

Mike recapped his highlighter, very amused at the situation before him. Harvey, who seemed to be a curious drunk, asked him another question.

"Kid. Why in hell's name are you here?" His dark eyes narrowed in confusion.

"Well, ah, I was just getting ahead on as many cases I could. I could tell you were having trouble with Macker, so I was just trying to be… helpful." He confessed. Upon hearing this, Harvey smiled. And it was a _real_ smile. His usual mask of standoffish acridity and brash humor was rendered completely gone thanks to the gratuitous amount of alcohol he had no doubt imbibed. His cheeks basically glowed as his mouth was upturned into a full, genuine smile. Mike thanked god that Harvey was as drunk as he was, because the young associate was sure that his face flushed with embarrassment at his boss' grin.

"C-come on Harvey, we should get you home." Mike stuttered, still slightly flustered.

"But my scotchhh." Harvey whined.

"Trust me, you don't need anymore." Mike laughed, shrugging on his coat and slipping his feet back into his black shoes. 'Organizing' his desk by sort of straightening out the mussed papers and tossing the pen and highlighter back into their original spots, he shouldered his leather messenger bag, leaving his cubicle and switching off the desk light.

"Fuck it's dark." Mike stated blatantly. The moon was waning, barely a sliver of silver in the night sky, offering hardly any illumination.

"My phone has got onna those flashlight apps or whatever." Harvey chirped, still using Mike's cubicle to prop himself up. Mike wondered, now, why the hell there weren't any lights one in the building, but figured it was for some sort of energy saving plan. 'Energy saving' his ass. More like 'employee killing by tripping over shit' plan.

"Sure that'll work, can I have your phone?"

"Mmmmph eets in my pocket." Came the slurred reply.

"Are you serious…?" Mike trailed off, his cheeks once again hot with embarrassment. Shaking his head wearily, Mike (as well as Harvey) was in no mood to argue, so he finally just asked "Which one?"

"Rig- no, no. It's the left one. Left."

Mike sighed heavily, before using the faint illumination from the city lights flowing weakly in through the large windows to move towards the hunched figure of his boss. Mike sucked in a breath of air, hoping Harvey couldn't see the bright red he knew was burning on his cheeks, before awkwardly brushing his fingertips over his boss' outer thigh, searching for the opening of the trouser pocket.

"That ticklesss." Harvey slurred, sniggered. The heat from his cheeks was nearly ready to melt his face off before mike finally located the pocket, slipping his hand into and out of it as quickly as he could, gripping the phone tightly. Harvey cracked himself up by making a joke about Mike's hand being in his pants.

As soon as Mike got the phone to offer some surprisingly bright illumination, he shined the thing directly at Harvey, who groaned and buried his head in his arms.

"Come on, you. Let's get you a cab home." Mike said, coaxing his intoxicated boss to stand up shakily. Mike hadn't even offered, but Harvey draped an arm across the younger man's shoulder, leaning into his associate. Mike would have fallen over if he didn't have quick reflexes.

"Woah- hey, watch it!" the younger man yelped, steadying himself against the newfound weight of a drunk Harvey. The older man grumbled some incomprehensible words against Mike's shoulder. Mike snaked an arm around Harvey's waist to keep him steady, and used the free one to man the phone flashlight. Slowly they made their way down the hall (at which point Harvey was warbling the Harvard Fight Song with the tonal quality of a blender) until they finally made it to the elevator. Mike jabbed at the down arrow with a finger and proceeded to wait, Harvey now humming, seeing as the rest of the words to the song escaped him. With a light ding, the elevator opened, and Mike led Harvey into the lighted box. At that point, Mike turned off the flashlight on Harvey's mobile, and was relieved that his boss took the device with his free hand to slip it into his pocket. Stepping out of the elevator and soon enough the entire Pearson Hardman building, Harvey was still clinging onto Mike, and Mike's arm hadn't moved from his boss' waist. In all honestly, Mike was grateful for the extra warmth as the cold night air chilled him. Although Pearson Hardman was deserted, the rest of New York was still buzzing with activity at 3 in the morning. Standing on the curb, Mike began waving his free hand, and not before long a yellow taxi cab pulled up. The driver, a slightly portly fellow with a short beard and a bald head, rolled down the window.

"Hey, could you take my buddy here back to his house? It's a-" Mike was quickly cut off.

"He drunk?" the driver asked.

"Aha, yeah he is." Mike let out a strained laugh.

"Well then you better ride with him." The driver deadpanned.

"Wait, what? Why?"

"If he throws up, I'm kicking him out. No ands ifs or buts about it. So unless you want your boyfriend stumblin' about the streets alone if his stomach decides to lose it, I suggest you git in the car too."

"Oh- uhm, he isn't my boyfr-" Mike stopped. Was he _really _going to have this discussion? With some city cabbie? No, no he wasn't. He was going to be the more mature individual and leave it be. "Okay, I'll go with him." And with that, Mike detached the clinging Harvey, and coaxed him into the back of the cab. Once seated, Mike followed suit, buckling both himself and Harvey in. Rattling off his boss' address (which he had memorized the second he read it) to the cab driver, Mike was suddenly aware of Harvey's head slowly resting on his shoulder. Mike felt his face flush as the driver gave him a sly, knowing smirk from the rearview mirror. Mike quickly adverted his gaze to the outside window, trying to focus on anything other than the leering cab driver, or Harvey's head now fully nestled into his shoulder. Bright lights and signs flitted by as the cab drove on, weaving in and out of main roads and side streets. Mike's quick eyes noted the street they were currently on; only a few minutes till they reached Harvey's place.

Mike gently jostled his shoulder, and in doing so, nudged Harvey awake with a discontented grumble.

"Whaaaaaaat." Came a slurred groan from Mike's shoulder.

"We're almost at your flat now. Wake up and get up, stop leaning on me." Mike answered, giving Harvey a harder shove this time. Harvey grunted unappreciatively, but sat up slowly, blinking his eyes groggily. They'd pull up to Harvey's apartment any second now, so Mike leaned forward and addressed the driver.

"Hey, once we drop him off, can you head back to Pearson Hardman?"

The cabbie just nodded, but at this, Harvey's brow furrowed.

"Hey. Hey. Why would you be goin' back?" he garbled.

"Harvey, my bike is there. Remember? I bike to work?"

"No." Came a surprisingly terse reply from Harvey.

"What, Harvey?" Mike asked, turning his head to stare confusedly at his tipsy boss.

"I'm not gonna 'ave my associate biking home at what-ever-the-hell time it ees in the mornin."

Mike ran a hand through his short hair, laughing uneasily. Mike really wasn't willing to spend the ridiculous amount of money the cabbie would charge him in order to just back to his house. It was only a few miles to bike, anyways.

"Seriously, Harvey, it's no big deal. I'll be fi-"

"Mike. I'm your-"Harvey lost this word he was looking for a second "-I'm your boss. Ya' know what that meansss?" His words trailed off and slurred.

"You can fire me whenever and wherever you please." Mike deadpanned.

Harvey gave a breathy chuckle, but it seems that the senior partner wasn't quite finished with his argument.

"Look- I 'ave an extra couch that's _probably _bigger than the bed you have at your place."

At this Mike was blushing. Again. Did his boss just invite him to stay the night? Not in _that_ way, but still. The younger associate fidgeted with everything possible: adjusting the shoulder strap of his bag, fingering his tie nervously, making hasty glances in and out of the cab window. Luckily, the cab driver (who was sporting the most shit-eating grin the world has seen) announced their arrival at Harvey's address.

"We're here. Out out out before he pukes." He accentuated his point by shooing them out with sweeping hand motions. "Oh, also, that'll be thirty one bucks even." He reminded them. Mike almost choked on his tongue at the high price. Thank god he wasn't paying. Harvey was in the process of staring bewilderedly at his wallet, as if his eyes were having trouble focusing clearly on the fat stack of bills nestled in the leather fold.

"Here." Mike leaned over, snatching the wallet from Harvey's uncoordinated hands. The senior partner was about to make a sound of discontentment, but just huffed loudly and sat idly with his arms lazily crossed over his chest.

"Ohhhh no you don't." Harvey snapped.

"No _what_?" replied a confused Mike.

"I know what you're gonna do. No. You may _not_ pay fer the fare back to Peeeerson Hardman with _my_ money."

"N-no I wasn't!" Mike stuttered, lying terribly. Harvey just sat there with a shit-eating grin, dark eyes dancing with amusement and liquor. Harvey _always_ paid for their cab fares (not a single time had Mike paid; he'd remember). Mike's eyes narrowed in cautions curiosity. What was Harvey up to?

"Y'got two options, kid. Either git out _here_ or have fun using your puny lil' paycheck to pay for th' cab." With that, Harvey snatched back his wallet with surprising speed for a man who was a little more than moderately drunk. Giving Mike one of those coy 'just deal with it' shrugs, Harvey fumbled with the cab door, finally sliding out of the seat clumsily. Mike grinned weakly. What was he getting himself into? What was fuck was he doing… What if, what if, what-

Mike had to stop thinking _right fucking now_. This wasn't a time for thinking. This was simply a time for action. No analyzing. Fuck his eclectic memory; it did nothing for him now. Nothing to memorize or figure out. This was simply a moment of do or do not.

And Mike had made up his mind.

Quickly opening the door, face flushed with the embarrassment of what he was doing, offered a hasty 'thanks' to the cab driver (who was still smirking his stupid face off, sporting the biggest 'I knew it' ever).

Rounding around the back of the yellow vehicle as it rolled away from the curb, Harvey was smiling his classic (though a bit lopsided, thanks to the booze) Harvey smile: full of charm and devious confidence.

"Looks like y've made a good choice, kid." Harvey noted before stumbling forward and wrapping himself over Mike without notice. Once again, the kid stumbled, just nearly catching himself and his boss.

"God damn it Harvey!" Mike yelped, feet trying to steady themselves on the pavement.

"So help me up t'my apartment."

"Bite me." Mike replied, almost automatically. On second, with Harvey drunk as he was, that may have not been the best thing to shoot back with. His boss might actually have nibbled on him or something.

Luckily for Mike, the senior partner just snorted and leaned in closer to his associate, letting his head loll gently on Mike's shoulder.

The kid's arm had already snaked around Harvey's waist to keep him upright.

There was some traversing of fancy looking hallways, as well as a ridiculously long elevator ride up to the 21st floor. Soon enough (after Harvey managed to remember which pocket he had put his keys in) the pair was stumbling into Harvey's posh flat.

Last time Mike had only gotten a peek of the place, but damn was he right. It was nice. Every inch of the place, from the deep hardwoods to the modern amenities brushed chrome, the place screamed Harvey. A little ostentations here and there, yet radiating with that underlying class and elegance that was so very Harvey Specter. Simple yet complicated in the black and white geometric patterns of the wall art seemed to scream of the man who had no doubt placed them in his home.

But Mike nearly dropped his boss when he turned to see the view. Practically the entire right wall of Harvey's flat was replaced with a grandiose glass window, offering the most stunning sight of New York Mike had ever seen in his life. As hurriedly as he could without pushing him, Mike led Harvey to his designer leather (and admittedly bigger than Mike's bed) couch. Removing Harvey's arm from his shoulder, Mike set the older man, ignoring the annoyed sounds Harvey made as he realized he was going to crease and crinkle his suit by lying down in it. As soon as Harvey was situated, Mike bound over to the window, literally pressing his face and palms against the glass like an awestruck child. He even murmured an amazed "wow" from under his breath. Below him, New York was a conglomeration of bright, mesmerizing lights. The streets, lighted with the little dots of street lamps, looked like ethereal intersecting lines of glittering diamonds. The lights of the city, blinking signs and headlights, reminded Mike of a myriad of fireflies in an inky night sky.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Came a voice from behind him. Mike saw Harvey in the glass' reflection. Since when had Harvey even gotten up?

Turning around, quite uncomfortable with the lack of personal space Harvey was giving him, Mike took note of Harvey's still flushed face. "Bought the place… jus' for the view. Well, almost. I mean, the res' is nice too-" Harvey gazed listlessly out onto the New York night, hands deep in his trouser pockets "-but that. That is the best." It seemed, to Mike, as if Harvey had somehow inched closer without him even noticing. The older man was now studying Mike intently, eyes glinting wildly with a mixture of lust and expensive amber shots.

"H-Harvey, you're drunk. Go back to the couch before you collapse on me or something." Mike tried to laugh out, his voice pinching in a tiny squeak as Harvey's eyes narrowed and burrowed themselves in Mike's blue flanked irises. Harvey was definitely far beyond invading his associate's personal bubble. For some odd reason unknown to even Mike himself, he didn't mind it.

For a moment they were both silent, hearing nothing but the blood pounding in their ears.

Neither of the two men knew who moved first, but soon their lips were locked together. Mike inhaled the scent and taste of fine aged liquors, expensive and delicious on Harvey's tongue.

Maybe Mike would regret this in the morning. Maybe Harvey was just too drunk to know what he was doing. Maybe this was way against associate partner relationships at Pearson Hardman. Maybe Jessica would wring them both by their necks. Harvey was no doubt too intoxicated to be concerned with such menial thoughts and 'what ifs', but Mike was wholly aware. As they both separated, breathing heavily, pupils dark and lips reddening, Mike met Harvey's gaze, taking in the sight of a slightly disheveled Harvey Specter. This was no time for thinking. Nothing to analyze. Nothing to even consider. There was only one option. Wrapping that luxurious silk tie around his fist a few times, Mike pulled Harvey in again for a second kiss. Mike's eyes slipped closed, glimpsing Harvey and that flawless New York skyline as they fluttered shut, and all thoughts were forgotten in the perfection of the moment.

* * *

><p><strong>First Suits fic, so sorry if it sucks. Still getting a hang of the characters. <strong>

**Lots of other fics featured drunk Mike, so I thought "Why not?" and proceeded to write drunk Harvey. Hope you enjoy it. Please leave comments/reviews; it would really help me. Thanks!**

**-bill**


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